


Ten Christmas Eves

by Cybra



Series: "Last Christmas!" Carols [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Obsession, Pre-Canon, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: Prequel to "Last Christmas!"When the three Spirits of Christmas go to reform Scrooge, they realize that the usual routine isn't going to fix a much deeper problem.  Instead, they invite Scrooge out to rediscover the joy of Christmas in hopes of helping him turn his life back around.  Unfortunately, they didn't take into account him becoming so overly attached to them...and for one of their number to reciprocate it to the point of obsession.





	1. Verse One

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a prequel to “Last Christmas!” because I’m a terrible human being like that. The title is inspired by the piece 4’33” composed by John Cage which is a piece of chance music, music that has some or all of a composed work that is left up to the performers themselves, leaving how it will ultimately sound up to chance. Fair warning that some of the chapters are much shorter than others because in some instances, I might not have needed as many words to get across what I wanted to for that particular chapter. Speaking of which, all ten chapters are completed and are in various stages of editing, so expect the rest of the chapters to come out quite quickly.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company

“Oh.  Oh, this is just _horrible.”_

There was a routine to how these things went:  Some ingrate would draw the attention of the three Spirits of Christmas, they would show him (or her) the error of his (or her) ways, and then that person would go on to have a new appreciation for the holiday and the people around them who made it special.  People had a wide variety of reasons for hating Christmas, typically blaming it for some sort of misfortune in their lives that had taken place around that time: lost loves, personal tragedy, so on and so forth.  In the decades (centuries?) since this had started, Past had seen every excuse in the book.

Or at least he thought he had.  Part of the routine was taking a glimpse at the person in question’s history to see what precisely the issue was so that the Spirits could tailor the lesson to the person in need of it.

His wings buzzed as he hovered, wringing the handle of his timebrella in the wake of what he’d said.  He didn’t need to ask to know that his counterparts Present and Future were thinking the same thing.

“I don’t think this has ever happened before, has it?” Present asked, looking to Past.  (By his very nature, Present was focused on the current moment, leaving records of the past and visions of the future to Spirits whose natures were attuned to those purposes.)

Past shook his head.  “No.  Or, at least, not like this.  I mean, there’s being sad because your family died and Christmas serves as a reminder, but we’ve never had one who’d been abandoned by his entire family due to a mistake.”

His heart broke for the old man they’d been sent to reform.  The trio had initially been baffled by their glances into Christmases past:  The man had been an immigrant from a country that had _banned_ Christmas for hundreds of years but, once he’d been allowed to truly experience it (even if it had been a complete disaster), had fallen in love with the holiday and celebrated it enthusiastically for decades.  For him to suddenly shut it out hadn’t made any sense for no tragedy had struck around Christmas to cause the man to harden his heart.  So they’d had to cast their net wider to scry the man’s niece disappearing into radio static as her spaceship was lost and then losing the rest of his family as they excommunicated him.

Scrooge McDuck was persona non grata to his own kin for a tragedy that hadn’t even been entirely his fault.  Little wonder he’d closed his heart to the season even as he clearly longed to celebrate it again with his loved ones.

“What do we do?” Past asked. “We can’t fix this.”

“I don’t know,” Present admitted, scratching his head. “Future, you got anything?”

The robed skeleton removed one hand from his scythe to give a one-shoulder shrug.

“I hear ya.  I mean, it doesn’t make sense to—”                                                                                                    

“Who are you lot and what are you doing in my home?”

The new voice belonged to none of the Spirits.  The trio turned their heads to see Scrooge standing in the doorway of his bedroom, watching them with great disinterest.  It seemed like he wasn’t asking to be confrontational or because he even cared; it was more out of habit than anything else.

The three Spirits froze, glancing at one another before Present gamely pointed at the duck and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be Scrooge Mc…uh… _Dog_ would you?”

One eyebrow rose, the duck’s disinterested expression morphing into bland annoyance.  “No.”

“Ah.  Gotcha.”  Present turned and smacked Future on the arm, startling the other Spirit into jumping a little.  “See, Future?  I told you it was the wrong house!”

Future and Past exchanged glances, the reaper pointing at himself as the cricket gave a shrug.

“Sorry, pal.  Got a little turned around.  Not a lot of Scrooges out there anymore, so we ended up at the first house whose name slightly matched.  Didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

“Yes, well, good evening.”  Scrooge’s expression reverted back to one of intense disinterest just before he passed through Future, shivering a bit as he did so.  He leaned heavily on his cane as he walked with a pronounced limp.

“Say, let us make it up to you,” Present said. “Past has a timebrella that could let us go back and talk to that McDog guy any time.”

At the mention of his name and his tool, Past squeaked and buzzed around in front.  He pressed his tiny hands against Present’s cheek as if he could physically push the far-larger specter back.  “Would you mind excusing us a minute?”

The duck’s expression lost not one drop of its disinterest as he continued plodding along the corridor.  “Do what you want.”

Past waited until Scrooge disappeared around a corner before he zipped upwards to properly meet his fellow Spirit’s eye.  “What do you think you’re _doing?!”_

“Look, shot in the dark, but I think what this guy needs is a night out, not the usual routine.  Maybe putting a little joy back into his life will get him back on his feet,” Present said.  He gestured to the rest of the house.  “I mean, look at this place.”

Past did as ordered, taking in the empty hallways that should’ve echoed with laughter.  They seemed to stretch on forever, making him feel even smaller than he actually was.  One would’ve expected the noises of a house settling or even some distant sound of life given they had seen the master of the mansion walking off not two minutes before, but instead there was perfect silence, as if the lonely corridors were interconnected auditory black holes.  It was a house anyone would’ve assumed was haunted yet the only ghosts were the three present in that particular hallway.

Future adjusted his scythe, and Past shivered with sudden chill.

“Yeah,” the little cricket said softly. “You’re right, Future: It _does_ feel like a tomb in here.”  He sighed and rubbed at one antenna.  “Okay.  Okay, so we’ll skip me and Future’s parts tonight, Present, so you can—”

“Uh uh.”  The pig shook his head unhappily.  “No matter where we go, everybody will recognize him and probably talk about…what happened.  That won’t help at all.”

“Then what?” Past demanded. “Time travel?”

“Well, yeah!”

The smallest of the trio covered his face with his palm.  “See, this is why we don’t let you come up with the plans: You never think things through.  Suppose things don’t get better in the future?  Then what?”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about the future; I was thinking about maybe going to the past.”

The cricket stared at the pig, jaw slack.

Present gave a hopeful grin, holding out his hands as if displaying an invisible gift box in them.  “It’s perfect!  Think about it:  Depending on where and when we go, people might not know him and there’s no talk about spaceships and all that.  A few hours away from everything at one of the greatest holiday bashes of yesteryear should perk him right up!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Past breathed after a long moment of silence. “We can’t…It’s not…”  He turned towards their silent companion.  “Future, back me up on this!”

Future swept his hand out to one side, giving a small shrug.

“You’re taking _his_ side?!”

“Come on, Past.  You gotta remember a few really good shindigs, right?”  Present gave his best smile.

Past chewed his lower lip, flitting idly about the corridor as his mind chewed on the problem.  His job was to show people Christmses past that usually weren’t the greatest to help them work through the old bitterness and disappointment they’d learned to associate with the holiday.  When had been the last time he’d thought about going back to a _good_ Christmas?

It took quite a bit of mental digging before he slowly admitted, “I…might know a few.”  He then wrung the handle on his timebrella again as a thought occurred to him.  “But what if somebody recognizes him?”

“Say it’s a case of mistaken identity.  Especially if there’s no way to easily check like phones and stuff.”  Present beamed, knowing he was winning the argument, before turning to Future.  “That’ll work, right?”

Putting bony fingers to his equally-bony chin, Future took a moment to think and likely glimpse into a few possible futures.  Most of the people they’d helped in the past failed to realize that Future had only been showing them the most likely path they would’ve taken had their behavior continued on as it had been.  The past was set in stone, the present was more malleable like a river passing over the stones, but the future was as ever-changing as a breeze:  One could make certain predictions based on past and current conditions, but (as the old saying went) a butterfly’s flapping wings could change things just enough to change the wind’s behavior.

After a thoughtful moment or two, Future lowered his hand and nodded his head.

“See, Past?  We got this.  Besides, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d really like to cut loose for once!”

Past looked between his cohorts, still toying with his timebrella.  “So…we’re really doing this?”

Future gave him a toothy grin.

“Okay…” Past took a deep breath before repeating with a tad more enthusiasm, “Okay.”

Christmas Eve had a certain pattern for him and his fellow Spirits, but tonight?  Tonight they were breaking tradition; they were actually going to change the story this year after so many years of the same old thing.  Past’s stomach did flips of excitement.  No looking back on sadness and regrets with people who would ditch him the following year tonight.  Tonight was going to be _different._

Now came the hard part:  Convincing Scrooge to come with them.

* * *

 

Scrooge stared into his teacup of formerly-hot water.  “Formerly-hot” since he’d been staring at the boiling hot water until it had cooled to room temperature.  The tea bag that he’d intended to steep sat uselessly on the saucer.

He missed the twins and how they would periodically join him for a late night cup of tea when one of them couldn’t sleep.  It had been months since anyone had joined him for the ritual.  It seemed…pointless.  Beakley and Duckworth weren’t even here to “accidentally” run into him in the kitchen, both having gone to visit relatives and getting trapped when the snow outside had kicked up.  The steep driveway of Killmotor Hill was downright _dangerous_ in weather like this even if the pristine snowflakes outside encouraged someone to leave their warm home to pack snowballs and hurl them at friends and loved ones.  Donald and Della used to spend hours on his lawn, chucking snowballs back and forth before ganging up on Scrooge at the earliest opportunity.

He slumped down that much farther in his seat, wishing a hole would open up beneath him.  When that didn’t happen, he took the fond memories and shoved them into a mental chest to lock them away, the snippets of history too painful to withstand.  (So much went into that mental chest nowadays; it was a wonder it didn’t simply burst and completely overwhelm him.)

“Sorry about that!”  A tiny form poofed into existence on the table beside the teacup, looking up at him.  “We just needed to hash out a few details!”

Two more poofs confirmed that it was likely all three of the Ghosts he’d seen earlier.  He’d almost forgotten about them.

“A few details about what?” he asked dully, wondering when the trio would be on their way and simply leave him to his misery.

“About how to make up for interrupting your night!” Christmas Past chirped.  He hopped up and landed on the end of Scrooge’s beak. “How about you join us tonight at some of the greatest Christmas parties in history?!”

The old man slowly shook his head, careful not to dislodge the tiny specter.  “Thanks but no thanks.  I’m not in much of a party mood.”

“Come on, it’s Christmas!  Nobody gets left behind on Christmas!”

 _‘Yes, they do,’_ he thought bitterly, wanting to find a hole to curl up and die in. _‘Some of us are terrible people whose bad decisions cause other people to get killed.’_

But maybe for a little while he could pretend someone still cared about him.  Or at least he could find a quiet corner of an open bar to drown his sorrows in.  Traveling back in time to a point where no one knew him would be grand.

If he was damned to suffer for all eternity because of his mistake, a few hours shouldn’t make any difference, right?

At last, Scrooge sighed.  “I suppose one little outing wouldn’t hurt…”

Nobody was going to be waiting up for him anyway.  Beakley and Duckworth would have to wait until the driveway was properly plowed, after all.  Given tomorrow was Christmas Day, they likely wouldn’t be back until the 26th at the earliest.

“Trust us:  You’re gonna have the best time!” Christmas Present told him, slapping his back hard and causing the cricket Spirit to pull into a hover as he was knocked off his perch.

Scrooge adjusted his spectacles, muttering softly, “Yeah.  Sure.  Sounds great.”

The two larger Spirits took his hands, Christmas Future making sure to also have Scrooge’s cane.  Then Christmas Present grabbed hold of Christmas Past as the latter opened his umbrella.  Green light spread over all four of them.

“Take heed,” Christmas Past began, “rise, and walk with me!”

They ghosted out through the back door of the kitchen and into the sky.  As they soared over Duckburg, Scrooge watched the city hall clocktower’s hands spinning rapidly backwards.  The city below warped and changed, old buildings becoming new and modern buildings disappearing as they passed the city limits at impossible speed.  What few cars that were still on the road reverted into older models and fashions from days gone by could be seen on people walking the streets.

His ears picked up music on the wind, specifically jazz music that Scrooge recognized from the 1920s as New York City of that era came into view, them landing in a hotel just beyond the Rockerduck Center.

Nobody stopped them at the door or even questioned their appearances.  They were simply four more guests at the party, likely an effect of the trio’s magic.

Scrooge snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, the man’s tray filled with identical glasses.  He tossed back the contents, the first of many for the night.

* * *

 

“Ye-ye three’re grrreat!” Scrooge cheered, rolling his R’s on that last word in particular. “I haff— _hic!_ —haven’t had that mush fun in _agesss!”_

He leaned heavily on Present as they touched down in the hallway outside his bedroom, giggling from the sensation of bubbles fizzing and popping in his belly.  As he’d predicted, he’d spent most of the night drinking, but his current level of inebriation came from more than just bottles of champagne spread out over the evening in a multitude of small glasses.  As he lost count of each round he swallowed, the positive energy of people chatting and laughing at the party had lifted his spirits considerably, the alcohol allowing him to mellow out and just go with the flow.

Honestly, he hadn’t wanted the night to end even as he’d been led away from the pretty little flapper girl who’d undone his collar and worried at his neck for a good five minutes.  He’d tried to fix it, but his unsteady hands had left it a bit lopsided, and a wobbly glance in the mirror showed some of her lipstick still lingering there.

For one night, he’d cut loose and abandoned Scrooge McDuck to be just Scrooge, and he had enjoyed himself immensely.

“Ye— _hiccup!_ —ye three are great!” he repeated, starting to slide down Present’s side towards the floor.

“You’re not half bad yourself!” Present told him, picking him back up and squeezing his shoulders. “You’re way more fun than that other Scrooge!”

The words had the effect of dunking his head in ice cold water as he remembered the beginning of the night:  They’d haunted the wrong home by mistake.

His new friends were going to leave him behind.  Just like everyone else in his life.

For a brief few moments, he was almost sober again.  Then, after a belch caused by the carbonated spirits further fermenting in his stomach, his mood crashed, going from delightedly drunk to inconsolably intoxicated.  He hiccupped and sniffled as tears began falling, but he forced a smile on his face and pushed off from Present, stumbling to one side.

“Well, ye lot better— _hic!_ —ye better be on yer— _hiccup!_ —way.  _Hic!”_ he slurred out.  He reached out to catch himself on a hallway side table. “It was nice mee— _hic!_ —ing you.”

He turned towards his bedroom, swaying a bit and allowing his smile to collapse as the last few drops of joy drained away, leaving him once again as the hollow shell of a man he’d been prior to his trip through time.  Somehow the same alcohol that had helped him remember how to smile fed that terrible sadness he’d felt for weeks, making it even worse.

Really, he’d known it wouldn’t last.  He should’ve never accepted the offer, instead holding his own “celebration” in the safety of his own wine cellar where he could have the same end results with none of the letdown of having had a good night up until that point.  Actually, it wasn’t too late to stumble his way to the cellar and just drink away Christmas now that he was home.  It was better than the all-consuming silence of the house.

The faint buzzing of insect wings drew his intoxicated mind to Past who hovered in front of him.

“So same time next year?” Past chirped merrily.

Scrooge blinked slowly, his eyelids already getting gummy from his tears.  “What…?”

“We haven’t had that much fun in a long time either!  Besides, I already told you: Nobody gets left behind on Christmas!”  Past grinned at him.  “We can come back next year for another party!”

“Ye…ye’d do that?  Fer me?” Scrooge slurred, a fresh batch of tears welling up in his eyes.

“Of course!”  Present’s voice chipping in drew Scrooge’s attention to the other two Spirits who approached him.  “Christmas is for family _and_ friends!  Besides, we can always go back in time and visit guys like McDog on Christmas Eve thanks to Past’s timebrella.”

The old duck visibly quaked with emotion as he looked up at the robed figure of Future.

Future smiled and held his arms open as Scrooge collapsed into them, sobbing into the Spirit’s cloak.

“Please don’t leave me!” Scrooge sobbed. “I— _hic!_ —I can’t— _hic!”_

Future rubbed his back as Present patted him on the shoulder.

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be back next year.  That’s a promise,” Present told him.

“Present doesn’t always look ahead, and Future’s usually got his eyes on what’s going to happen,” Past began, “but I’ll remember.  I always remember.”

Scrooge cried all the harder, fisting Future’s cloak.  He didn’t want to be alone for an entire year.  What if they didn’t come back?  What if they were lying to him to be kind?

“I think it’s time you got some sleep,” Past soothed.

The three Spirits led the hiccupping, sobbing mess of a drunk back to his bed, Scrooge not making the trip any easier with how he clung to them as if letting go for one second meant they would disappear all the sooner.  Present tucked him in while Future grabbed a trash can from the bathroom to set it beside the bed.  The latter ghost then studied the can for a long moment before giving it a slight nudge with a toe to adjust its placement.

Scrooge whimpered as Past took his spectacles and placed them on his nightstand.  Then the cricket landed on the pillow beside him, offering him a comforting smile and popping open his timebrella as the first light of dawn crept up over the horizon.

“Please…please don’t…” Scrooge begged.

“We’ll see you next year,” Past promised just before the three Spirits vanished.

Scrooge stared at where the ghosts had been, chest hitching.  He spasmodically clutched at the blanket as he prayed that the Spirits really weren’t gone but had simply turned invisible.

“Future?  Present?  Past?” he whimpered.

No answer.  They really were gone.

The old man gave a mournful howl as he began to sob all the harder, alone in the mansion with nothing but his terrible memories for company.  His stomach turned, and he rolled over to vomit over the side of the bed, emptying his stomach into the trashcan precisely where Future had placed it.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, retching and sobbing by turns, until his stomach was finally completely empty and he passed out.


	2. Verse Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve decided to post the rest of the chapters over the course of today so I don’t miss Christmas. As I said in my previous chapter, I had all ten chapters written before I started posting. Merry Christmas, everybody.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Scrooge sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window but not looking at his Money Bin.  Instead, he focused on the sun setting behind it, watching it dip below the horizon.  He wrung his hands as desperate panic gnawed at his insides.

With Beakley and Duckworth distracted by little Webbigail, it had been easy to slip off to his bedroom.  They hadn’t even tried to stop him when he’d told them he was going to bed early even though it meant he’d be skipping dinner.  It was Christmas Eve, and he certainly didn’t feel like making merry, not anymore.  Webbigail’s presence somehow made it all the more painful that his own family had left him, for she was a constant reminder that he was never going to meet Della’s three children.

However, he wasn’t going to be spending Christmas Eve in solitude; he was expecting guests tonight.  Or at least, he was fairly certain he was.  Last Christmas he’d spent the entirety of the day dealing with the hangover from the previous night’s binge.  (Even though neither of his servants made a comment upon their return the day after, he suspected that they knew he hadn’t been sober for at least a portion of their absence.  Try as he might, he couldn’t get that trashcan perfectly clean, and Beakley had wrinkled her beak at the faint whiff of vomit that had lingered.)  For all he knew, the Spirits, the party, and the promise of their return were nothing more than drunken hallucinations brought on by a loneliness-fueled raid on his own wine cellar.  Everyone knew the story of _A Christmas Carol_ , and his _name_ was Scrooge (as everyone liked to remind him at this time of year).  It would’ve been fitting.

He should’ve dismissed it as nothing more than an inebriated fantasy, yet here he was waiting for the sun to go down in hopes that it _had_ been real.

“Please…” he begged the silence. _“Please…”_

He’d waited three hundred and sixty-four nights.  He’d suffered the endless silence in his home and in his head that was his due punishment for his part in Della’s disappearance.  Tonight was supposed to be his “weekend pass” of sorts, a brief reprieve from his penitence.

The last sliver of sunlight disappeared.  The world had gone dark save for the lights of Duckburg far below Killmotor Hill.

He held his breath, heart in his throat.  How long did he have to wait?  How long _would_ he wait before he gave up and accepted that he was nothing but a desperately-lonely old fool who’d made up imaginary friends to ease that same loneliness?

Just as hope began to die, three orbs of green light appeared and formed three figures: a skeleton-thin man wrapped in a cloak, a pig dressed in fur, and a little cricket with an umbrella.

“Merry Christmas, Scrooge!” Present greeted, plucking him up off the bed and hugging him tightly.

Even if the being himself was cold, the hug held a warmth that had nothing to do with physical temperature.  Scrooge’s eyes stung with sudden _relief_ at the presence of the Spirits, of his _friends._   They were _real_ and they had come despite what a terrible person he was and the awful things he’d done.  They could’ve left him to rot just as his family had, but they were _here._

Past darted over and hovered in front of him.  “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” the old man whispered harshly.  Then louder, “Yes!”

_‘Take me away from this wretched place and time.’_

Present released him, and Scrooge took hold of his hand before grabbing hold of Past, Future gripping onto Present’s other hand.  The window flew open of its own accord.

“Take heed…”

The timebrella popped open as Scrooge’s heart began pounding in his chest.

“…rise…”

Green light engulfed them as Scrooge felt his feet leave the floor.

“…and walk with me!”

Out the window they flew, the world smearing around them as they passed through space and time, back to a Christmas long-forgotten.

Scrooge told himself that if any of the Spirits asked why he was crying, he’d tell them it was because of the wind.

* * *

 

Present slapped Scrooge on the back as the man finished his latest mug of eggnog.  “Not bad, huh?”

Scrooge belched before swiping the back of his hand across his beak to wipe away some of the rogue droplets that stuck to it.  He swayed for a moment but recovered, grinning.  His accent had clearly thickened from the drink as he boasted, “Ah can keep up with any one of you lot.”

Future held up a hand, palm towards him.

Present began to translate, “Future says—”

“Ah know wot he’s sayin’,” Scrooge snapped, pointing in the direction of the reaper and ignoring how his finger wobbled about. “An’ he’s wrong.  Ah’m fine.  In fact…”  The duck got up, swaying for a moment before grinning widely.  “…Ah’ll be fetchin’ us another round.  Don’t go away.”

“You sure you’ll be all right?” Past asked, zipping up into Scrooge’s face and looking between his pupils. “You’re looking a little unsteady.”

“Bah!  Ah’m steady as a rock!” Scrooge bragged, placing his thumb against his chest.

Present snickered as the “rock-steady” mortal stumbled for a moment.  Then he looked to Future who motioned to the duck with one hand.  “I hear ya.  C’mon, Scrooge.  I’ll give you a hand.”

“Ah’ve got it covered.”

“You’ve only got two hands, and that’s three pints you need to carry.  Unless you plan on chugging one to carry it back in your stomach,” Present joked.

The duck tilted his head to one side, clearly considering that option before a hiccup snuck up on him, prompting a guffaw.

Present laughed merrily along with Scrooge and slid an arm under the duck’s own arm and behind his back to steady him as they walked towards the bar.  This was actually the third party they’d stopped by, Scrooge having not enjoyed the first two.  Those previous two parties had been quieter but no less cheerful.  The mortal seemed to want the louder revelries, probably to leave the tomblike quiet of his own home far behind him.

“Let’s dance,” Scrooge slurred.

Present didn’t even ask what the other was thinking.  Instead, he swung Scrooge about, taking him by the hands and leading him out onto the dance floor.  Eating, drinking, and making merry.  That was what tonight was all about, and his shorter partner was embracing it all with open arms.  Tonight they would live in the moment, something that Present did best.

Scrooge’s steps were unsteady and off-beat but no less enthusiastic than any of the other dancers on the floor.  Being the shorter of the pair, the duck took the woman’s position in the dances as Present spun him where appropriate and led him in merry capering.  He laughed gaily, not caring that some people were staring.

The ghost laughed heartily as the mortal tripped and fell against him for a moment before straightening up and resuming.  “Not bad for a guy with three eggnogs in him!”

“Four!” the duck corrected with pride.

Present caught sight of Future out of the corner of his eye, one bony hand extended with his palm up.  He nodded and spun Scrooge towards his cohort.

Future caught Scrooge as he started to fall, the man laughing at his own dizziness.  As soon as Scrooge’s feet were under him again, it was Future’s turn to lead the duck around the dance floor.

Past hovered next to Present.  “Y’know, we should probably slow down.”

“What do you mean?  Everything’s fine!”

“He’s trying to keep up with us.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So we’re _ghosts._   It’s not like alcohol can affect us,” Past reminded him. “Future’s right: Scrooge is gonna be awful sick later if he keeps going at this rate.”

“It’ll be fine, Past.  Scrooge can handle anything.”

The duck in question stumbled over to them, laughing, as Future was snatched up by another partygoer.  “This is some party!”  Scrooge held up his hands to the cricket.  “Yer turn!”

“How would we even—Whoa!” Past yelped as Scrooge grabbed hold of him and then began stumbling back out onto the dance floor.

Present gave a hearty laugh before jumping back into the fray, grabbing a random partner of his own.

* * *

 

“Ah’m rilly, ril— ** _HIC!_** —surry,” Scrooge murmured, head between his knees as he sat on a bench in the garden.  He belched, but fortunately nothing came out with it this time.

Present wrung out the last bits of water from his robe before putting it back on.  “No big deal.  Won’t even stain!  One of the advantages of being a ghost!”

Despite his words, Future knew Present was currently regretting his “living in the moment” attitude to where he hadn’t thought twice about what would happen later in the night.  Scrooge had matched the pig pint for pint of eggnog between forays on the dance floor.  With each pint and each dance, the most likely future had come clearer into focus for the reaper until the inevitable had finally happened.  At least the pig was good-natured enough to handle his dancing partner getting sick on him.

Past rubbed the back of Scrooge’s neck.  “We’re sorry we weren’t paying attention.  We should’ve been looking out for you.”

“Not yer— ** _BURRRRP_** —job,” the duck protested weakly.

“Sure it is.  We’re your friends, and friends look out for each other.”

Present patted Scrooge on the head as the duck looked miserably up at him.  “We’re not used to partying with someone still alive.  We’ll keep a better eye on it next year.”

The duck’s eyes went wide before tearing up.  “Necks year?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course!  Didn’t think you’d get rid of us that easily, did you?  Aw, c’mon, Scrooge.  Don’t do that.  You’ll make yourself worse.”

Scrooge sobbed, wiping at his beak with his sleeve to remove a bit of the leftovers from the last time he was sick along with clearing his nostrils.  “Ah’m sur— ** _HIC!_**   Ah— ** _HICCUP!_** —Ah kint— ** _HIC!_** —Ye’ve no idea wot that means tuh me.  **_ULP!”_**

Future walked over and sat beside the duck on the bench, rubbing his lower back as Scrooge coughed up more of his Christmas dinner and libations.  The man kept sobbing out apologies, and Future knew he wasn’t the only one who heard the desperate plea hidden in those apologies:

_Please don’t leave me._

It deeply worried him, so much so that he turned his gaze inward and towards the future, following the path of the man’s life to try and sort out the broken images of possible realities.

He could sense trouble ahead, but nothing immediate.  Something was brewing, like a storm on the distant horizon.  What that something _was_ he couldn’t tell, but he knew from mentally following a few of these potential futures that leaving Scrooge to his own devices now would be a terrible idea.  The best-case scenario was bad enough; the most likely scenario was infinitely worse.

Besides, Future knew he wouldn’t want to abandon the man they’d spent two Christmases with.  Past was right:  They were his friends, and they wanted their friend to be happy.  They could do nothing the other 364 nights of the year, but at least on Christmas Eve they could grant him some small joy.

Scrooge slumped against him, eyes closed though he wasn’t asleep.  Not yet.

“I think it’s time we get you home,” Past said.

“…Do ye haff to?”

“Afraid so.  Christmas Eve can’t last forever.”

There was something odd in the way the smallest Spirit said that, but it was a concern that would have to wait.  Particularly given Scrooge looked up at him with eyes shiny with unshed tears, despairing desperation in them.  “But ye’ll be back?”

Future nodded gravely, a solemn oath that didn’t need to be said aloud.

Scrooge whimpered but sagged in surrender, Future wrapping him in the folds of his robe before they took off for the man’s present and the sunrise of another Christmas.


	3. Verse Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

The third year had started the same way as the second: fear that the Spirits were finished with him and then relief when they appeared.  The three ghosts hadn’t forgotten him nor had they decided they’d had enough of him, and that was something that never failed to amaze Scrooge.

Still, how many more years would they return?  He didn’t know, and he was too afraid to ask.

Though after last year’s incident, Scrooge had noticed that the Spirits had slowed their pace when it came to the drinking and eating aspects.  It had worried him initially, and he’d tried to coax them back into old habits.

“Actually, drinking’s pretty pointless for us,” Present had told him. “We just didn’t want you to drink alone.  We didn’t think about the amount until last year because we can’t feel any of it.”

Even three hours later, it touched Scrooge deeply.  Perhaps that was sad and more than a bit pathetic, but it was the truth.  He treasured that little nugget of caring as much as he did Old Number One.

“—so get this:  The guy decides to give Future the finger when it’s his turn,” Present said, waving his arm theatrically and nearly knocking over his mulled wine.

“Really, the nerve of some people,” Past huffed.

Scrooge looked towards the reaper, his own glass of wine hovering just before his beak.  “So what’d you do?”

Future smirked and gestured.

The duck choked on his wine as he had the misfortune of trying to drink when the sudden laugh struck.  He coughed as Present thumped his back, laughing between gasps.  He looked up at Future through teary eyes.  “If that didn’t work, I don’t know what would.”

“He kept trying to tough guy act, but you could tell he was pretty shook up.  Here’s hoping it sticks.  Some of them revert back,” Present said.

Past took a drink of the wine in the thimble he used for a cup.  “So what about you, Scrooge?  What’ve you been up to?”

“Oh, y’know: the usual,” Scrooge said vaguely, taking another sip of wine.

“Ya can’t just leave it at that, buddy!” Present told him with a slap on the back. “We’ve been boring you all night with our stories!”

The old duck stared into his wine.  “I…don’t have any new stories.  My life’s pretty routine now.”

He almost missed the looks the Spirits cast one another, but he glanced up from his drink just in time to see them.

He forced a smile on his face.  “It’s all right.  It’s good to have a routine.  That’s what Don…what someone I used to know always said.”

He hastily gulped down the last of his mulled wine and leapt up from the table.  His bad leg ached but he was determined to enjoy himself tonight.

Dawn would arrive far too soon for his liking.  He had to make the most of what little time he had with his companions.

“I’m going to the dance floor.  Anybody want to join me?”

“I’ll pass,” Past chirped.

“I’m game,” Present said. “Future, you comin’?”

Two bony fingers were raised in a peace sign.

With that, the three of them left their smallest companion behind.

* * *

 

Past liked to dance to a certain extent, but things could get pretty hectic in a crowd like this.  He’d rather not end up trampled or swatted, so he kept out of the fray for the most part.  However, being a wallflower wasn’t so bad from time to time; people were always interesting to watch.

People really weren’t that different from generation to generation, Past mused.  The specifics changed, but the overall patterns remained the same.  It made centuries of essentially living the exact same Christmas Eve even more tedious and frustrating.  Here he’d thought that the book’s popularity would’ve helped stamp out the need for them to go out every year for some ingrate they’d never see again.

He shook his head.  No.  Best to abandon those thoughts before he drove himself mad with them.

Instead, he cast his gaze about and found Scrooge sitting by himself, the duck also watching the world go by.  He lighted on a mug of water and poofed both of them over to the duck.

“You’re looking pretty mellow,” Past greeted.

“Aye, Ah am.”  Scrooge smiled wryly down at him. “Cutting me off?”

“I know you’ve been at it for a while now, and I don’t want you to get sick,” the ghost fussed.

Scrooge reached down, but he scooped up the cricket instead of picking up the mug so they could be at eye level to one another.  The smile on Scrooge’s face was fond yet sad.  “Ah appreciate it, but ye’re a bit late for that.”

Past’s wings drooped even as he reached out to pat his mortal friend’s beak.  There was nothing he could say or do to make things better.  He wasn’t Present with his boundless cheer or Future with his ability to offer hope of a better tomorrow.

No, he was Past and all the unchangeable bad days that went along with it.

As Scrooge set him down, it occurred to Past that this was the first time they’d spent much time together solo.  True, they’d had a dance last Christmas Eve, but Scrooge had been quite drunk at the time, not a state conducive to conversation.

For another thing, he remembered that Scrooge had past his fourteenth decade only a few short years ago, the same year as the incident that had destroyed his life.  That day among others weighed heavily on Scrooge like…like…

Chains.  Chains like the ones on the people they couldn’t help.  The invisible lengths that Past himself felt like he was dragging through his own existence.

Suddenly, he saw Scrooge not as a poor soul they didn’t know how to help:  Instead he was someone else rooted to the side of the road by the terrible memories that haunted him and forced to watch as the rest of the world whizzed on by.  Not to mention the mortal and the Spirit of Christmas Past had both been abandoned, Scrooge by his own kin and Past by the people who’d left him behind.

It was nice to finally have someone who truly understood.  Present and Future couldn’t fully grasp Past’s inability to move on; it was against their very nature after all just as living in the moment and looking towards what was ahead was against his.  Like him, Scrooge lived in the past, went through the motions in the present, and didn’t put much thought towards his personal future given what he saw there was so bleak.

As much as he rolled his eyes at the pun, it was no less true:  They were kindred spirits.

* * *

 

As soon as they left Scrooge in his home hours later, the old duck already starting to sleep off the food and drink, Past was already wracking his brain for next year.  There were so many past Christmases to choose from!  All that he had to do was narrow down the choices.

Nothing with a cover charge or required to pay for food and drinks.  Even if Scrooge didn’t detest spending more money than he had to, his money from the future could disrupt the timestream.

It needed to be lively but still have places where one could sit and rest with relative quiet.

Most importantly, it had to be somewhere (and somewhen) nobody would recognize Scrooge on sight.

That knocked out quite a few possibilities, but out of those that remained—

Future was watching him.

Past met the other’s gaze.  “What?”

Future held out a hand, palm up.

“Everything’s fine.  We’re still getting all those other guys straightened out.  Nothing wrong with living a little, right?  That’s what Present always says.”

The other ghost frowned.

“What do you mean ‘unhealthy’?” Past demanded. “Okay, so he’s attached to us.  So what?  We’re his _friends,_ probably the only ones he has.”

Future spread his hands.

“Yeah, well, better us than nobody at all, right?  You know what happens when people like him reach their limits:  Best-case scenario, they become wendigos.”

The reaper’s frown deepened with worry.

Past’s wings buzzed in irritation.  “I’m perfectly fine!  I’m just trying to help a friend is all!”

With that, Past poofed away.


	4. Verse Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typically I just leave any mistakes I find on later re-reads as is, but this time I had to go back and do a minor edit to Verse One because I found a couple of glaring mistakes my brain had skim-read over. Nothing major, just a couple of odd word choices that potentially changed the meaning of the sentences they were in.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Beakley had plenty to worry about between keeping thieves out of the mansion, Duckworth’s impossible cleanliness standards, and her granddaughter Webby, but Christmas was swiftly becoming a major one.  Not because the holidays could be hectic (though that was certainly true) but because Scrooge was starting to truly frighten her on that day in particular.

For the previous two years (and she suspected that first Christmas after Della’s disappearance), Scrooge didn’t make any sort of appearance before noon.  When he did, there were all the telltale signs of someone who had drunk far too much the night before all over him.  That second Christmas after the incident had especially terrified her because she suspected he’d drunk well beyond his limit and could’ve very possibly _died_ while she’d been peacefully sleeping.

It didn’t help that this pattern of behavior was well outside of typical Scrooge behavior:  Scrooge did drink but he usually stopped long before he was anywhere near blackout drunk.  However, all signs from that particular Christmas hinted that if he hadn’t reached that stage, he’d been tapdancing on the edge of it.

Then again, a lot of things had changed with Scrooge since Della took the _Spear_.  He used to love children, but now he wouldn’t give Webby the time of day.  She used to clean up all sorts of messes when he came back from some grand adventure with treasure and story in hand, but now things were so much easier to clean with him rarely diverting from the route between the mansion and the Bin.  She’d always known he had one bad leg though it had never slowed him down, but now he walked with a definite limp, some days relying on his cane more heavily than others.

But the most obvious sign to anyone who knew him well was that Scrooge seemed to be starting to hate Christmas.  He didn’t object to her and Duckworth decorating and celebrating, but he didn’t join in anymore.  He would hurry past the tinsel, lights, and wreaths as quickly as possible, clearly wanting no part in the festivities that he used to love.  He didn’t even attend his own company’s annual Christmas party anymore.

The Duck twins—via Della’s disappearance and Donald’s abandonment—had damaged Scrooge in a way Beakley had never thought possible.

Honestly, Beakley didn’t blame him for not wanting to celebrate Christmas:  It was a time for family when Scrooge didn’t have one of his own anymore.  She and Webby would’ve loved to fill in that void for him, but she knew that one thing that hadn’t changed was Scrooge’s impulse to push people away to protect himself when he was hurt.  Until he recovered, he would huddle in on himself and snap at anyone who got too close like a wild animal with its foot caught in a trap.  This time she was afraid he’d never recover.  Even worse, he seemed to be doing himself serious damage right under her beak.

The heavy drinking was worrying enough in and of itself, but what truly terrified Beakley was that she didn’t know how he was doing it.

The third year since Della’s disappearance, she’d taken careful inventory of the wine cellar in the days leading up to Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve itself, and Christmas day.  To her shock, every bottle had been accounted for, yet Scrooge had still been hungover the next day.  She’d carefully checked around his bedroom while cleaning, checked the garbage and recyclables before taking them out, and even checked the outside security tapes for Christmas Eve.  However, Scrooge had never left the mansion and there were no excess alcohol containers anywhere to be found.  If Scrooge was squirreling away liquor and smuggling out the empty containers, he’d found somewhere not even _Duckworth_ knew about to hide them.

A sound coming from the kitchen jerked her into full wakefulness.  She checked the clock: six AM.  It was Christmas day, but the darkness outside could excuse anyone for thinking it was still Christmas Eve.  She slipped quietly through the mansion, switchblade at the ready.  She didn’t know who was invading or how, but they would regret it.

She entered the kitchen, hearing a rustle of cloth.  But as she turned on the light, nothing was there.  She glanced at the large window but it was closed, meaning the curtains hadn’t been the cause of the sound.

Another soft sound, farther into the mansion this time, back towards the family wing now.  How had her quarry crossed the house so _fast?_

Years of training and working as a spy kept her heart from pounding in her ears so she could hear clearly no matter how tense the situation.  She moved swiftly and silently, trying to pinpoint the direction the sound was coming from.  The family wing…no, the end of the family wing.  _Scrooge’s bedroom._

She threw open the door, knife raised to be thrown at the target.  Only the target was Scrooge himself, looking like a right sorry mess as he sat on the window seat of the window overlooking the Money Bin.  He was still wearing his clothes from the night before, but they were rumpled and she thought she saw the beginnings of a hickey peeking out from beneath his lopsided shirt.  To her alarm, there was a bruise encircling his left wrist as if someone had grabbed him and yanked hard or—and her stomach churned at the thought—even had him bound.

Beside him was a glass of water that had been retrieved from the kitchen.

He looked at her tearfully, swaying dangerously.  “Ah— ** _HIC!_** —Ah mest it all up.  **_HICCUP!_**   They’ll ne’er come back.  Ah-Ah— ** _HYOAT!”_**

The last hiccup sent him falling backwards in his seat.  It was a fortunate thing that the window was shut and securely locked or he would’ve tumbled right out through it.

He covered his face with one hand, sobbing and hiccupping.

Her heart broke at the sight.  She didn’t know what he was babbling on about, and she doubted that he could explain now or that he would explain later if she asked, but something terrible really had happened while the rest of the house had been sleeping.

She coaxed him off the window seat, having to support him every step of the way back to his bed.  One thing became increasingly obvious with each step they took:  Scrooge could _never_ have retrieved that water glass himself in his current state.  The “they” he’d mentioned…whoever “they” were had to be the ones that had done it and first roused her.  In fact, given Scrooge’s current heavily-intoxicated state, it was very likely that they had deliberately made the noise to wake her to ensure he didn’t suffer any permanent ill effects.  No matter the marks on Scrooge, she doubted that “they” were the ones to cause them based on that.

She tucked him in, and he curled up below the covers, sobbing inconsolably.  The last time she’d seen him like this had been after the board had forced him to stop his mad search for Della and go on a several-month sabbatical under threat of staging a coup.  While Scrooge held a strong controlling interest due to holding ninety percent of McDuck Enterprises’ shares, serious questions about his mental state could be used to legally wrest the company from him, forcing him to back down lest his employees suffer the consequences.  That same day he’d reached out to the rest of his family to explain why the search had been stopped only to be told in no uncertain terms that he was no longer welcome amongst his own kin.  He’d hung up the phone, staggered to his room, and completely broken down.

History seemed to be repeating itself for he looked like he’d lost everything that held meaning to him a second time.

* * *

 

Christmas presents and breakfast were late that morning, but for once Duckworth didn’t scold the woman.  Instead, he watched Webby while Beakley sat with Scrooge as her former friend and partner gave in to despair.


	5. Verse Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

“—followed by the annual screening of _Christmas on Bear Mountain_ at 9:08,” Beakley recited.

Scrooge held the blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders as he shivered.  He sat on the window seat of his bedroom window, gazing out at nothing in particular.

There was a long pause before she sighed, resigned, “I take it you won’t be joining us.”

He snorted.  “I’ll pass on the empty sentiment and commercial trappings of the holiday, thanks.”

“You didn’t used to think that,” she pointed out.

“I suppose I finally woke up then, eh?” Scrooge snapped before he began coughing.  He lost his grip on the blanket as he clutched at his chest.  He blindly grabbed the tissue Beakley held out to him, coughing into it.

He sagged as the fit passed, leaning his head against the windowpane as he tried to ease the burning in his head with the chill of the glass.

Beakley sighed and pointed towards his bedside table.  “If you’re not going to join us, at least take your last dose for today and get some sleep.”

“I will in a bit.  Thank you, Beakley.”

She moved to the bedroom door to leave, pausing at the last moment.  “…You know you’re always welcome to join us.”

He closed his eyes.  “Thank you, Beakley.”

He waited until his door closed before he reopened his eyes to gaze blankly out at the world.  This time last year, he would’ve been eagerly waiting for the Spirits.

They weren’t going to come this year.  He’d made one mistake too many, and he would be left behind again.  That was how things always went.

Yet even as he settled in to mourn over his latest loss, green light from behind him reflected off the window.

His eyes widened, and he turned around, shocked.

“Merry Christmas, Scrooge!” the Spirits chorused.

Scrooge stared at them, sliding off the window seat and reaching out to them.  He grabbed Future’s robe, then Present’s.  Finally he looked up at Past who fluttered down onto his shoulder.  “You’re here.”

“Of course we’re here.  Nobody gets left behind on Christmas, remember?” Past gently chided.

“But…last year…”

“Sorry if we scared you, but you were looking pretty bad,” the smallest ghost apologized. “We thought it’d be safer if we brought you home.”

“’Sides, me and Future wanted a word with that lady,” Present muttered lowly, expression dark.

Scrooge bowed his head forward, sagging with relief.  “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Past knelt down to pick at his pajama top, his face falling as his antennae drooped.  “You weren’t planning to stay up for us, were you?  You thought we weren’t coming.  Gosh, we’re really, really sorry, Scrooge.”

“No, no, it’s fine.  I’ll just get changed if it’s all right with you?”

Past took off from his shoulder so he could remove the pajamas and get back into his usual frock coat.  He glanced at the medicine before turning away from it.  He’d be fine missing a dose, after all.  He didn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of all the fun.

“Let’s go!” Scrooge said, mood finally starting to lighten.

* * *

 

It had been about ten minutes since Scrooge had excused himself to use the restroom.  After last year, the ghosts had decided to keep at least one of them with the mortal to make sure a repeat didn’t happen.  Honestly, one didn’t expect people to take advantage of Christmas celebrations for such awful things.

At least they’d learned otherwise before something irreversible had happened.

Which was why this particular party on the _Queen Elizabeth II_ was going to make up for last year: Plenty of fun and relaxation.  As far as the crew was concerned, they were just four more eccentric passengers.

The only problem was that Past was getting flashbacks to last year since Scrooge had yet to return from his little side trip, sending the cricket into a panic as he hunted for his friend.

“Scrooge?  Scrooge?!” he called, darting in and out of hallways and poofing into rooms.   One room caused him to yelp and cover his eyes. “Sorry!  Didn’t mean to intrude!”

By pure chance, he poofed into the nearest restroom where he cautiously uncovered his eyes.  “Oh good.”

His antennae twitched at the sound of someone retching.  He knew he should keep looking for Scrooge, but, well, making sure this person would be all right would only take a moment.  To his relief, that quick check ended up revealing the location of his quarry.  “There you are!  I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Scrooge rested his head on the toilet seat, tilting his head to look up at him.  The duck looked flushed and sweaty, feathers and clothing practically soggy.

“Did someone slip you something again?” Past fretted, landing on his shoulder.  As he reached out to touch the other’s cheek comfortingly, he nearly launched himself back into the air in alarm. “You’re burning up!”

“It’s nothing.  Honest.  I’ll be fine once my stomach settles back down,” Scrooge protested.

“It’s not nothing!  We should take you home for some rest!”

“No!” Scrooge pleaded. “I don’t…please don’t take me back.  Not yet.”

The cricket swallowed.  Really, he didn’t want to take his friend home, but…“We gotta.  You’re sick.”

The duck whimpered, “I only get to see you all for one night, and I made you cut it short last year.  Please, I want to stay.”

Past’s heart twisted, but he had to hold firm.  “Well, maybe we can just have a private party in your bedroom.  Just because we have to take you home doesn’t mean we have to _leave.”_

Scrooge gazed hopefully at him.

“You have medicine back there, right?”

The duck nodded. “But it’ll put me to sleep.”

“We’ll stay until it kicks in then,” Past promised.  Then he clasped his hands together and begged, “So can I _please_ get the others and take you home?”

Scrooge nodded before he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Past patted his shoulder reassuringly before going off to find the other two Spirits.

* * *

 

Scrooge tried to stay awake.  Really he did.  For the first hour, he’d been wide awake and talking with his three friends between coughing fits.  They’d talked about anything that came to mind, but as time wore on Scrooge had found himself drifting off and losing the thread of conversation.

As he struggled against the inevitable, Past stood next to him on the pillow and stroked his head feathers soothingly.  Without saying a word, the cricket reassured the duck that just because they would leave tonight didn’t mean they were gone forever.

With each eyeblink, he lost more time until finally he sighed in defeat.  He couldn’t keep his eyes open for another second.  He nuzzled the pillow and, by extension, Past with his beak.  He mumbled a farewell to them as they bid him a goodnight.

He didn’t hear them leave as he fell completely asleep.


	6. Verse Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

The three Spirits of Christmas had checks and balances against each other.  Present couldn’t manipulate time any farther than one day, yet that meant he could help Past and Future see things not just as they had been (in Past’s case) or how they might be (in Future’s) but how things currently _were_ so that they all could adapt with the changing times.  Past kept the Spirits rooted using tradition to revise how they operated when attempting to set people right based on what did and didn’t work during past excursions into the mortal world.

As the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, Future had a very important job:  He was to help keep the other two Spirits on track by gazing into the possible futures and finding the most likely result of a given course of action.  It was also a particularly difficult task when any one action could spawn dozens of potential futures.

This was why the fact that Scrooge’s potential futures were narrowing more and more each year alarmed the Spirit.

A normal person’s future was rife with possibilities, some twining around one another like snakes.  Someone’s possible futures narrowing meant that in some form that person was dying with the remaining potential futures determining how and when.

Even worse, Future wasn’t entirely sure that this scenario wasn’t due to their interference.

Scrooge was _dependent_ on them.  He clung to them, ignoring what few attempts at reaching out to him that others did.  He was desperate, terrified at the possibility of a Christmas Eve arriving when they didn’t come to him.

There was only one solution that was going to make any difference:  Scrooge _had_ to reconnect with his family, yet his family refused to be among the few who wanted to reach out to the man.  Even worse, Scrooge hadn’t just accepted that; he’d convinced himself that he didn’t deserve to have them.  After all, why else would they refuse to have him back in their lives?

And if his own blood kin wouldn’t have him, who was to say that the others trying to help him would stay?  Familiarity bred contempt, after all.  The fact that they didn’t deal with him on a day-to-day basis had to be the only reason the Spirits kept coming back, right?

It made Future feel sick.

He looked over across the fire pit at where Scrooge was nursing his latest beer while talking with Past.  As the flames danced, their combined shadows morphed and melted into a hulking beast.

In that moment, a very strong possible future intruded upon Future’s mind.

_A horned creature with massive paws and a tufted tail tilted its head back and howled mournfully at the sky before it resumed its hunt._

Wendigo.  Had he possessed a mortal body, the blood would’ve frozen in his veins in horrified realization:  They weren’t stopping that possible future; they were making it _happen._

There was no easy fix for this.  If they didn’t show next year, Scrooge would take that final step and allow desperate madness to overcome him a second time.  Only this time, he would cease to be Scrooge McDuck and become the wendigo that had been lurking in the wings the whole time.

But if they kept coming, they risked him cutting himself off entirely from the rest of the world, only living for each Christmas Eve and a few hours with them.  That wouldn’t erase the threat of the wendigo, only delay it:  As Scrooge cut himself off, his desperation for Christmas Eve’s arrival and their company would grow until it triggered the change.

As much as Future didn’t like it, that slower possibility was the ideal scenario at this point.  Particularly since Scrooge was their _friend._   They had come to know him much more intimately than any other person they’d ever visited.  Future knew he wasn’t the only one looking forward to meeting up with him for their yearly outing.

Looking at Past and seeing the shade of a possible future that also included a wendigo, he worried that the dependency was going both ways.

* * *

 

Past listened eagerly to Scrooge’s slightly-slurred story about mining for gold in the Klondike Gold Rush.  It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it over the past six years, but that was fine.  When Scrooge had a few drinks in him, it was easy to convince him to talk about his glory days as a solo adventurer.

Scrooge always looked so happy when talking about the past.  That time before his life had gone off the rails was something he treasured, and Past reveled in hearing someone tell of bygone days that weren’t filled with misery and despair.  Not all of Scrooge’s stories had happy endings, but at least Scrooge could look back on those days with fondness.

“Ah, they were still talkin’ about it years later when I came back with…”

Past tensed as Scrooge’s voice trailed off, his shoulders sagging.

“Wh-when I came back with…” The duck downed a swallow of beer and then gave a dry swallow as if trying to clear a lump in his throat before he looked down into his mug.  “…I think I’m gonna need another round.”

“No problem.  I’ll be right back!” Past chirped, touching the mug and poofing them both to the filling station.

He didn’t come back right away, however.  Instead, he seethed in anger.  Not at Scrooge; no, the duck had done nothing wrong.  Past’s anger was focused on the people who’d left the man behind.

Bad enough that he himself was abandoned year after year after year, but to force his friend to suffer the same fate?  They didn’t even have the excuse that he was some stranger who’d helped them out randomly.  They had a familial tie, and they just _left him_ …

Past took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down, to breathe.  It was fine.  None of the ingrates were here, but at least Scrooge wasn’t alone.  He had Past, Present, and Future looking out for him even if it was for only one night a year.

Unfortunately, that made Past curse in frustration at the fact that it _was_ only one night a year.  It had been a relief for so long that Christmas Eve didn’t last forever that he hadn’t imagined he would ever be upset at the hours flying by so _fast._   If only there were some way to stay beyond one night or at least extend the night indefinitely.

Sighing in frustration at his own impotence, he poofed himself and the fresh mug of beer back to Scrooge.  “Here you go!  Sorry for the delay; here was a bit of a line,” he lied.

Scrooge nodded his thanks before taking a long, hearty swallow.  However, his expression remained downtrodden.

The cricket lighted on his shoulder, stroking the mortal’s head feathers.  “Why don’t you tell me about your time in Glasgow again?”

Scrooge offered a faint, grateful smile before he launched into the tale of his Number One Dime for the seventh or eighth time in so few years.  It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it was better than watching the man stroll down the darker parts of Memory Lane.

One of the advantages of being stuck in the past was knowing which parts one didn’t want to revisit.  If nothing else, that meant Past could help Scrooge maneuver around them.


	7. Verse Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Scrooge swept the serving girl around the dance floor before he allowed himself to be caught by one of the miners, laughing with delight.  The saloon was quite a distance from Dawson and White Agony Plains and everything that went along with them.  Here nobody knew Scrooge McDuck for the man was still a luckless miner toiling away far from this place in the hopes of one day striking it rich.

No, tonight Scrooge was simply Scrooge, dancing and drinking and singing along with the other Gold Rush miners as they celebrated Christmas Eve.  It didn’t matter that he was more richly-clothed than them; he’d earned their trust by virtue of knowing their job and expecting no better or worse treatment than any one of them.

The burly miner that danced with him spun him around into Present who trotted with him across the floor and back to where Past and Future were clapping along with the rhythm.  Scrooge stumbled dizzily towards them, plopping down in his chair as Present reclaimed his own seat.

“I’ve never been to a real miner’s ball before!” he said happily. “The closest I ever got was some cheap copy back in the 70’s.  The group behind it wanted to go ‘retro’, but it wasn’t nearly this much fun!”

“Seriously?” Present asked, amazed. “Not once?”

Scrooge shook his head before taking a sip of his beer.  “Too busy.  That and I didn’t really see much of a point to Christmas at the time.”  He gave a small chuckle.  “I’m actually surprised you all didn’t come knocking on my door back then.”

“Well, it’s not like you were hard-hearted,” Past explained. “You weren’t deliberately shutting out Christmas and unfeeling towards your fellow man; it just wasn’t something you celebrated.  If we went by that logic, we’d be busy visiting everybody who didn’t celebrate Christmas just because they had a different faith or whatever and would never get to the people who really needed a stern talking to.”

The duck nodded his understanding.  He looked around at the miners dancing with one another due to there being so few women to dance with.  “I think the only thing that would make this even better would be seeing Casey Coot again.  He was such a good friend to me back then even when I had little interest in making them.”  He sighed and shook his head.  “But if I show up at the miner’s ball in Dawson, they’ll recognize me and realize something’s up given what I’m wearing.  Then it’ll be all downhill from there.”

“Exactly,” Past chirped. “Best to stick to people that don’t know you.  And us, of course.”

Scrooge chuckled and nodded.  “Of course, but I thought that went without saying.”

“Still good to hear.”

“Duly noted,” the duck said.  He took another sip of his beer before deciding to just outright ask what had been on his mind for the past two months. “I’ll understand if you tell me it’s not my place to ask, but what happens to a soul when it dies?”

The Spirits exchanged concerned looks before refocusing on their mortal friend who held up his hands.

“I’m not making plans, I swear,” Scrooge told them. “I just…Duckworth, my butler…he passed away two months ago.  I wanted to know if he’d be happier on The Other Side.”  He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.  “I can’t fancy working for me was the highlight of his life.”

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad of a master,” Past told him.

“He had to teach me how to be a ‘proper’ master,” the duck snorted. “Even then I ended up just doing things my way.  Top of his class at butler school, hired by the richest duck in the world, and his employer was basically a day laborer putting on airs.”

“Butler school is actually a thing?” Present groaned.

Before Scrooge could ask why that was important, Future smirked and held out his hand.  Present grumbled and slapped a silver coin into the bony palm, prompting Scrooge to snicker.

“Well, it’s not like you were raised to be wealthy,” Past reasoned. “Of course you wouldn’t know the ‘rules’.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the reassurance, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

Pocketing the coin, the reaper began motioning with his hand in explanation, Scrooge tilting his head in fascination.

“So it’s basically an ‘all roads lead to Rome’ sort of situation?”

Future nodded.

“So what about ghosts?  Not your ghosts, but ghosts in general?”  Scrooge paused.  “Actually, let’s ask that:  Who were you three in life?”

“Well, while most ghosts are people who died and whose souls wander the earth for various reasons, some ghosts are concepts given personification.  Like us,” Past explained.

“Yeah, we were never alive to begin with.  It’s why we don’t pass on like other ghosts who decide to give up wandering and accept their deaths along with whatever’s waiting for them on the Other Side,” Present explained. “We’re here for a purpose and aren’t released until it’s done.”

“And given the nature of our purpose, we’re gonna be here a while,” the cricket finished.

Scrooge went quiet for a long moment, processing that.  “What about between Christmas Eves?  Where do you go?”

“I guess you could call it ‘Limbo’.  It’s not bad, but it’s kinda dull,” Present answered with a shrug.

“But it’s not like you cross over temporarily?”

“Nope.”

Which meant that when he died, the only three people in the world who might potentially wait for him wouldn’t be there.  He would be all alone for all eternity even if he reached Paradise by some miracle.

Somehow, wandering the earth so he could spend Christmas Eve with the three Spirits didn’t sound so bad.

_‘Wouldn’t be any different from right now,’_ Scrooge thought bitterly. _‘Not really.’_

The silence stretched on for a long moment before Present slapped him on the back, the Spirit’s way of breaking such moments.  “Don’t worry so much about it!  Tonight’s supposed to be all about fun, remember?”

Scrooge gave a weak smile to the specter before raising his mug to clink it against the others’ before downing the rest of his beer.  He could ruminate on this later.  For right now, he needed a less-sober head.


	8. Verse Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

The problem with not caring about yourself was that things had a tendency to break down at inconvenient times.  Most of the time it didn’t matter given it was in the privacy of his own home or office when his self-neglect caught up to him.  Really, it was routine by now: feeling unwell, having Dr. Quackenbrush’s attentions forced on him, and then being nagged into resting for a few days.  Repeat the cycle every few months.

Scrooge hadn’t been feeling well for days, but Christmas Eve night—his “weekend pass”—was only a few more hours away.  He wondered when and where he and the Spirits would go that night.  After 364 nights paying penitence for the _Spear of Selene_ , it was always good to have that one night to leave his troubles behind.

On Christmas Eve day, however, he still had duties to uphold.  Really, his part in the current press conference had been over with twenty minutes ago, so he entertained himself by mentally revisiting the dancing at the miner’s ball last year.  Much more interesting than the prattling on concerning matters he couldn’t care less about.  (Why even have a press conference?  This particular announcement could’ve been released via advertising like usual.)

He placed a hand to his head at a wave of dizziness.  His throat felt dry, but he straightened back up as soon as he had his bearings.  _Finally_ he was allowed to lead the presenters off-stage as the press continued shouting questions.

He heard Della’s name in the cacophony, and he stumbled.

It had been _eight years._ When were they going to stop talking about what happened?  Couldn’t they take a hint and leave him alone?

He kept his gaze focused on the stage door.  Once through it, he could climb into the limo and take a quick nap before meeting up with the Spirits.  He was looking forward to it.

But as he headed towards the door, he heard someone call his name, yet the voice was muddled.  He missed a step as the world started whirling about him.  There was shouting as he hit the ground, blurry forms hovering over him.  (Had his glasses come off in the fall?)

Somebody said the word “ambulance”.  He struggled to find the energy to protest, to tell the source that he just wanted to go home.

Instead, his eyelids closed of their own accord, and he found only darkness and silence waiting for him.

* * *

 

“Is he gonna be all right, Granny?” Webby asked, wringing her hands.

“The doctors want to keep him overnight at the very least,” Beakley told her granddaughter. “How he managed to hide the early symptoms, I don’t know, but he’s got quite a case of pneumonia for his trouble.”

The three Spirits—incorporeal and unheard by the mortals—glanced at one another.

“No wonder he’s a no-show,” Present said grimly.

“Oh dear,” Past murmured. “We should visit him.  Being in a hospital on Christmas Eve must be dreadful!”

Future sharply motioned with his hand.

“Of _course_ I don’t think we should go out!  He needs proper rest and medication, but he’ll be so upset if we don’t show up, don’t you think?”

Future paused before grimly nodding, and Past wondered if he’d caught the glimpse of some shade of a dark future.  (If so, all the more reason not to skip the visit.)

“Then it’s settled:  We’ll go check up on him!  It’ll be just like when he had the flu a few years back.”

“Think he’ll have any cute nurses this late?” Present asked with a grin, prompting Past to roll his eyes.

Future waggled a finger at his cohort.

“Fine, fine, we’ll keep it low-key.  Killjoys.”

* * *

 

If it weren’t for the fact that Scrooge had been mildly sedated on top of the normal medications for pneumonia, he’d probably be feeling rather bleak by now.

Idly channel-surfing, he grimaced at yet another report on his collapse.  It was the top headline of the day, and he really wished people would mind their own business and keep their beaks out of his personal life. Particularly when they threw around conspiracy theories about how healthy he actually was.

The worst part about being headline news was the fact that it meant that Donald and the rest of the family had to know he was unwell…yet they hadn’t even tried to get in touch with him.  Not even to check in and see if they’d be inheriting his vast wealth any time soon.

He might as well not exist to them, and that hurt more than anything else.

Beakley had stayed as long as she could due to visiting hours, though she’d kept glancing at the clock.  She would then periodically scowl at the door, and he honestly didn’t want to know if she was annoyed at sitting with him or angry that his family didn’t show, too afraid it was the former reason.

He shut off the television, closing his eyes but not sleeping.  If his eyes were closed, he could pretend he was in the unfamiliar bed of a hotel room to a certain extent.  The ridiculously expensive room he’d been put in certainly looked the part.  Scrooge hated hospitals with a passion.  Honestly, they scared him to death since he grew up with them as places to die, not places to heal.  If you were very unlucky, your death was due to being used as a guinea pig for an experimental cure to pay for your stay rather than the malady you came in with winning.  (It didn’t matter how much time had passed and the level of advancement medicine had reached.  He would always remember first and foremost the barbaric conditions of his youth.  It was the main reason he’d been mildly sedated:  He’d lashed out in a panic when he first woke up and had only calmed down after the drug had been administered.)

“Wow, this place is nice,” a familiar voice commented heartily.

“Present!” a second voice hissed. “You’ll wake him up!”

Scrooge’s eyes snapped open.  He tried sitting up, but his weakened body resisted his efforts.  “You came!”

“’Course we did!” Present said, perching himself on the edge of the bed as Future leaned over to help Scrooge. “As long as you want us to come, we’ll come.”

“But how did you know where I was?” Scrooge asked. “I doubt you have cable in Limbo.”

“We overheard your housekeeper talking to her granddaughter about what happened,” Past explained. “Are you all right?”

“Just feeling a bit under the weather is all.  Sorry.”  Scrooge drooped.  “Even if I wasn’t feeling so…weak…”  He grimaced at the admission.  “…the second there’s a blip in my vitals, the emergency crew will come running.  Plus the nurses have an annoying habit of—”

A knock on the door prompted the Spirits to poof out of sight.  Scrooge rolled his eyes as the nurse entered.

“How are you feeling, Mr. McDuck?”

“Same as thirty minutes ago: tired and I want to go home,” he grumbled. “How anybody is supposed to rest in this place, I’ll never know.”

The nurse gave him a little smile as she checked his vitals and wrote down the results.  “It’s good to see you’re still calm.  Feeling up to some dinner?”

Scrooge sighed.  “Sure.”

“I’ll be back soon then.”  She then left the room.

The Spirits poofed back into view.

Future ruefully glanced at Present who shrugged and said, “She had nice legs, but I’m more of a fan of blondes.”

Past buzzed his way onto Scrooge’s shoulder.  “So, what’s on the menu?”

“Hot tea—chamomile, not nutmeg unfortunately—and chicken broth,” Scrooge sighed, sagging back into his pillows.

“Sounds…delicious?” Past offered weakly.

“Sure you don’t want us to spring you?” Present asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh I want you to get me out of here.  _Desperately._   But if I up and disappear, it’ll send the hospital into a blind panic.  I figure I can give this wretched place a Christmas present of not giving the entire staff a heart attack and not getting my minders fired.”

The reaper touched Scrooge’s hand comfortingly.

The duck sighed.  “I’m just a little…upset.  My family didn’t even call.”  Scrooge gave a self-deprecating chuckle.  “You’d think I’d give up hoping by now.”  Then he cleared his throat and snarled, “Then again, family’s nothing but trouble.  Least I don’t have to worry about any of those moochers.”

“Harsh but I can sympathize in this case,” Past grumped, crossing his arms. “Honestly, not even a phone call?  How cruel.”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Scrooge said sourly.

Future held up a hand to stop all conversation before pointing at the remote control.

The duck clicked on the television as the Spirits poofed out of sight again just before the nurse returned with a tray.

“Here you are, Mr. McDuck: some chamomile tea and chicken broth!” she chirped happily.

“A feast any king would be envious of,” Scrooge noted sarcastically as she set the tray down on the overbed table and moved the device so that the table itself hovered over his lap. “Thank you, lass.”

“I’ll be back to check on you in half an hour,” she told him as she left.

Scrooge waited for a minute or two before shutting off the television, the Spirits reappearing.  “Checking in every half-hour.  How’s a man supposed to rest when he gets woken up the moment he actually starts dozing off?”

The three ghosts only offered shrugs in response.

Then Present perched himself on the bed again.  “Well, you won’t believe the job we had earlier tonight.”

Scrooge picked up his mug of tea and smiled, swallowing the bitter hurt in order to focus on the camaraderie he desperately needed.  “I’m all ears.”


	9. Verse Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

“Brrrring a torch— _hiccup!_ —Issabella!  Bring a torch to the— _hic-hiccup!_ —run!” Scrooge slurred along with the carolers he shuffled past.

“Easy, Scrooge.  Lean a little to the left unless you wanna fall over,” Past laughed.

The duck dopily grinned as he wobbled left as commanded before taking another swig from his stein of ale.  He belched appreciatively before stumbling into a lamppost and leaning heavily on it.

“Yer the bessst, Pasht,” Scrooge told him. “Ah— _hiccup!_ —Ah rilly mean that.  Ye know the besh partiez.”

The cricket landed on the duck’s beak, beaming.  “I do have a lot to choose from!  Just a matter of figuring out which ones everyone can have fun at.”

Scrooge nodded his head cheerfully before he hiccupped, entire body jerking in response.  The food and walking around had helped him avoid crossing certain thresholds, but it had been quite a while since he’d gotten _this_ sloshed on Christmas Eve.  Still, the others knew when to cut him off when he was too drunk to consider his limits.  He trusted them, Past especially.

To be honest, each year he spent a little more time with Past than with the others.  It wasn’t necessarily that Past was his favorite of the trio (though if Scrooge had to pick one, Past would be the most likely winner), but that the two just gravitated towards one another.  A few drinks in, and Scrooge would be regaling the Spirit of his glory days or listening to stories of the trio’s own past triumphs.  There was just a bit more between them than between Scrooge and the other two Spirits.

Literally in this case given Scrooge had been feasting with Past all night, and he was a bit rounder than when he’d started the evening as a result.  He hadn’t seen the other two Spirits in a while: Present had found a group to dance with and Future was off with whatever fun he’d managed to find for himself.  The Germans always had such good food at these festivals along with truly excellent beer and ale.  Scrooge had settled in to chat with Past while eating and drinking ages ago, eventually switching to just drinking as Past continually refreshed his drink—alternating between booze and water—via magic.

“Ye’d give ol’ Duckwor— _hic!_ —a run fer iz money,” Scrooge told the little cricket. “Ye’ve got taysht grate.”

“It’s good to see you enjoying yourself, Scrooge,” Past told him as he pushed off from the lamppost and began staggering his way blindly through the streets.

Scrooge swung his head this way and that, looking for the next refill station even before he took the last swallow from his stein.  As he turned a corner, he lost his balance and fell back into a snowbank, Past taking to his wings before he joined Scrooge in his tumble.  Once Scrooge had landed safely in the snow, Past perched himself on the duck’s belly.  Whether it was due to the contents being shaken by the fall or that tiny bit of pressure Past’s presence placed on his stomach, Scrooge gave a loud burp.

“You _are_ enjoying yourself, right?” Past asked.

Scrooge nodded his head up and down enthusiastically, giggling as the world spun in response.  He gave another energetic hiccup before shivering at the cold.

“Let’s settle you in somewhere warmer, huh?”

“Buh izso shoft right eeeee— _urrrrrp!”_   He guffawed before attempting another swallow from his stein.  He narrowed his eyes at it, suspicious when he belatedly realized that he’d gulped down nothing but air, only to relax again at another hiccup.

“I know, but I think I remember somewhere softer,” Past told him, taking his hand as he opened his timebrella with the free one.

The world disappeared before rematerializing around them, Scrooge now lying on his back on a bed in an inn somewhere.  His stomach churned in protest to the teleport, and Scrooge released a noxious belch before rubbing his slightly-distended belly to calm it.

“I’ll be right back with a refill,” Past told him, disappearing with the stein.

Scrooge blinked slowly where his friend and the stein had been.  Then he hiccupped and smiled dully up at the ceiling.  Really, it was a nice inn.  Very rustic and homey.

The second Past returned with the stein, Scrooge plunged his beak into the frothy head of beer, taking long gulps before coming up for a breath.  He grinned happily at his friend who had his own thimble of beer.

“Better than a snowbank?” Past asked with a grin.

 _Hiccup!_   Scrooge nodded.  “Ye alwuz know where tae go.”

“One of the advantages of being around the area so many times in the past.”

Scrooge pointed at Past…or, rather, one of them.  (When had there ever been three Christmas Pasts?)  “Ye e’er thought ‘bout makin’ Chrisismuz Eve last longer?  A-a few— _bellllch_ —hours iz too short.  _Hiccup!”_

“Even I can’t make a night last forever,” Past laughed.

“Sure ye could!  Jess…jess rewind time over an’ over.  Ye cud make a night lasht a-a _whooooole_ day if ye wanted tae— _hic!”_   He chugged down more of the beer, one hand unbuckling his belt as his stomach felt too constricted by it.

“…Yeah.  I could, couldn’t I?” Past mused. “Future can’t rewind time except to go back to the present like I can’t go farther than present time when moving forward.  Present can only move the clock forward a day and return to the present.  Out of the three of us, I _could_ make a single night last longer.”

“Ehza— _hic!_ —tully,” Scrooge slurred, bobbing his head up and down.

As Scrooge chugged down the last bits of his latest beer, Past chirped cheerfully, “Let’s test it out!”

The duck hiccupped before raising his stein and cheering, “Tuh ne’erendin’— _hiccup!_ —Eve!”

Past opened his timebrella and activated his magic.

* * *

 

“Past, you know I’m always down for a crazy party crawl, but this?  This I gotta agree with Future on: This was just messed up.”

 ** _Hilp!_**   Scrooge smacked his beak, tongue lolling out of his mouth and eyes closed.   ** _Hiccup!  Hic!_**

Past didn’t look at his fellow Spirits.  Instead, he focused only on the duck cradled in Present’s arms, the mortal snoring between loud hiccups and burps.  He patted his friend’s smiling beak as he flew alongside Present who carried Scrooge to his bed.  “I don’t see what the problem is.  He had a good time.  That’s what’s important.”

“You technically kept him for _three days._   That’s _way_ over the line!” Present countered. “How long were you planning on him staying anyway?”

The word “forever” flashed across Past’s mind, surprising him at the thought’s intensity.  However, he didn’t speak it aloud.  “I don’t know,” he answered. “We were just having a good time is all.  Talking about the old days, having a few drinks and laughs.  Y’know, the usual.  We were both having so much fun that I lost track of time.”

The smallest of the Spirits felt Future’s disapproving glare, hearing the silent accusation in it:

 _You kept him liquored up so he wouldn’t_ notice _the time._

Past felt his cheeks burn with anger.  Okay, so he’d kept Scrooge right there at his upper limit by mixing in just enough food and water with the beer to keep him from getting ill.  And he might have rewound time a few times when the man had needed to sleep off some of it all.  So what?  They would’ve done the same thing if they could’ve.

“Look, I’m sorry.  I got a little carried away,” Past said, not feeling in the least bit apologetic but needing to keep up appearances. “I’m glad you guys noticed something was up though.  Like I said before, I wasn’t keeping track of how long I’d been pushing the clock back.”

His fellow Christmas Spirits didn’t have exactly the same ability to manipulate time that he did, but they could all sense when it was happening in general.  So many rewinds had attracted their attention and led them straight to him and Scrooge.

Present brightened as he laid his burden down.  Clearly all was forgiven on his end.  Future on the other hand…

Past glanced at the bony Spirit who was watching him.  Not with disapproval; something else.  (Pity?)  “What?”

Future shook his head.

Scrooge’s belch drew Past’s attention back to him.  Present had laid him on his side, Scrooge’s arm draped across his swollen stomach.  He looked…happy, satisfied, content with the world.  So what if Past had kept him for three days?  That expression was more than worth it.  His friend was always so unhappy, after all, and every year he was that much sadder, so seeing him so pleased with the world was heartening.

Present pulled the blanket over the man, Past stroking Scrooge’s head feathers until the sun rose and the trio disappeared for another year.


	10. Verse Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we come to the final verse. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you have a merry Christmas!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

As soon as Scrooge was out of view of his family, he broke into a run.  His heart was in his throat as fear clawed at his insides.  He was late.  He should’ve been here ten minutes ago.

What if they had already left?  This wasn’t like the year he’d been in the hospital when they’d easily found out where he was.  Beakley had come to expect that they almost never would be on time with their return due to Launchpad’s flying, sometimes arriving early and others late.

He might have his family back, but he was on thin ice.  One little mistake, and he was likely never to see them again.  The Spirits had been there for the previous nine years, but what if they thought he didn’t want them around anymore?  What if they never came back now that he had his family and then he made a mistake that drove them off again?  He would be completely alone just like before that first Christmas.

_‘Not again.  I’m not going back to that._ Not again!’

He threw open the doors to his bedroom and dashed across the threshold.  “I’m sorry!  Headwinds were against us the whole way!”

For a long moment, there was no one there.  Scrooge stayed perfectly still, holding his breath before dropping his arms to his sides.  His insides felt cold, hollow.

Then the three green lights appeared, and he whirled about to shut the doors lest anyone wandering into the hallway see, leaning against them for a minute and trying not to cry with relief.  His eyes were still a bit watery when he turned to face his friends.

“It’s no problem!” Present told him, reaching out to pull him into an enthusiastic hug, one that Scrooge eagerly returned. “Merry Christmas, Scrooge!”

“Merry Christmas!” he returned, switching to Future when the reaper moved closer. “Thank you so much for waiting!”

“It happens,” Past said, fluttering onto his shoulder and leaning into his neck.  Scrooge raised a hand to cup it around the tiny Spirit. “Though who’s ‘us’?”

Scrooge beamed at his friends.  “You’re not going to believe this.”

* * *

 

Scrooge’s head rested on his crossed arms, bent over the table.  The plate of food and mug of cider were only half empty.  He lightly snored away as the Spirits talked around him.

“Out like a light,” Present chuckled. “Guess it shouldn’t be too surprising.  He’s had a big few weeks: a gold-hunting dragon, Atlantis, Mount Neverest…”

“I can’t believe they came back,” Past said quietly.

The smile the cricket wore was pasted on, a mask to hide the very real fear that soon Scrooge would leave them behind just like so many others had in the past.  It wasn’t fair.  Scrooge _always_ came back to them!  He couldn’t just _leave_ like that!

But there was also another outrage gnawing away at him: Scrooge’s family, the people who’d _abandoned_ him, had returned.  They hadn’t even bothered to visit him in the hospital, yet they’d returned when he’d become useful to them.  Scrooge might welcome them with open arms, but Past knew the man well enough to hear the unspoken fear that they would be gone again in no time.  Little wonder Scrooge was exhausted:  They were stressing him out, and for good reason.

The Spirits took the sleeping Scrooge home early.  With their Christmas Eve work already finished, they could simply go and rest for next year.  Present and Future bid their mortal friend a fond farewell before vanishing, but Past didn’t leave.  Instead, he stood on his friend’s pillow, watching the sleeping man.

Scrooge curled up on one side, raising a hand in his sleep to rest it on the pillow beside Past.  His face grew troubled as something in his dreams disturbed his formerly peaceful slumber.

The cricket placed his own hand atop his friend’s much larger one.  He smiled when the duck relaxed once more, a faint smile on his beak.

Then Past’s face darkened at the thought of what Scrooge had likely been dreaming of.  There had to be something he could do, some way to ensure that his friend wouldn’t leave him behind while making sure the man’s kin stopped hurting him.  There just had to be!

His mind drifted to the previous year, to those three days of Christmas Eve.  Scrooge had been so happy then.  _He’d_ been so happy, too.  A never-ending Christmas Eve that had been tragically cut short.

…That was it.

Past paced on the pillow as the details started forming in his mind.  The hardest part would be his fellow Spirits:  Future would never agree to such a thing, and Present had stood on Future’s side of the matter once before.  He could never hope to convince them.  Even if he sat down and explained it to them, they were the present and the future, being trapped looking backwards wasn’t in their nature so they would never completely understand.

Scrooge did.  Scrooge was a prisoner of the past just as much as he was.  Even moving forward as he was with the ingrates he called “family”, he was still bound to the past for he was haunted by those many nights when the Spirits _couldn’t_ be there, by the sadness and loneliness that his _family_ might once more subject him to.

Oh, the duck would be upset.  Understandably so.  But as time wore on, he’d realize that Past had had his best interests at heart the whole time.  Once that happened, everything would be all right.  Scrooge would understand in time and even thank him for it.  Then they could jump to anywhere and anywhen they liked, a true never-ending Christmas Eve.

Past would never have to be left behind again.

All he had to do was find a way to split up the group so that Present and Future wouldn’t realize what was going on until it was too late.

* * *

 

Future closed his eyes, sighing to himself.

He hadn’t told anyone, but the moment they’d met up with Scrooge earlier that night, he’d known things weren’t likely to end well.  For years, he’d had visions of Scrooge lingering on as a wendigo in the hopes of spending Christmas Eve with them.  While those visions still existed, two new futures loomed over them.

Scrooge’s family would leave him again, that was certain, but whether or not they would ever return was unclear.  Regardless, both possibilities had the same basic outcome:  Past would go too far out of a desire to protect Scrooge from further pain and to protect himself from losing a dear friend.

It was already too late to talk Past out of it.  He could foil the other Spirit’s plans for a time, but it would be the equivalent of kicking a can down the road.  Sooner or later, Past would catch wise to Future’s tricks and be able to avoid them.

There were too many futures that branched off from Past’s plan for Future to tell which was the most likely outcome, but not all of them were hopeless.  There was still a slim chance that at some point, despite all the heartache that was to come, things _would_ get better.

At this point, all Future could do was cling to that glimmer of hope.


End file.
